


Exchange

by bonibaru



Category: Smallville
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonibaru/pseuds/bonibaru
Summary: Clark and Lex exchange gifts, and something more.





	Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Snugglefic Challenge, an embarrassingly long time ago.

_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire ..._

Lex cannot fully appreciate the crooning smoothness of Dean Martin without the accompanying smoothness of one-hundred-year-old Scotch. He prefers to listen to music in the study, where the lowered ceilings and merrily roaring fireplace help keep the damp winter chill at bay.

It also helps that the bar is the most well-stocked in the house.

Lex has always been fascinated by firelight, the way the golden glow suffuses everything it touches and the flames make shadows around the room dance and flicker. The seductive swaying in the periphery of his vision has as much to do with the burning of Laphroaig in his veins, as the burning of the logs in the fireplace.

Lionel's long gone to Metropolis, the usual holiday parties in full swing. He'll make his standard appearance at every one just as he's done every year since Lex was old enough to remember. Lex chuckles to himself at the memory of Lionel's white cane wrapped around with red ribbon – Martha Kent's sneaky attempt to bring a little Christmas cheer to the old Grinch. "Now it's a _candy_ cane," she'd said proudly, and Lex had groaned at the lame pun even as she'd winked at him over the back of his father's chair. Lionel had run his fingers along the velvety strands of ribbon with a surprisingly noticeable twinkle of amusement, and Lex had felt just the tiniest pang of - nostalgia? Regret? Jealousy? Disgust? He still isn't sure which. Maybe all at once.

"Lex?"

He turns toward the door with a smile that speaks volumes. It says, for those who might care to listen, _Why Clark, what a surprise, so happy to see you. No, of course I wasn't just drinking alone and moping around my cold, empty castle on Christmas Eve._

What Lex actually says is, "You're up late. Aren't you afraid Santa won't stop at your house if you're not in bed?"

The couch cushion shifts as six feet of grinning farmboy slides onto the leather next to him.

"My parents like to spend Christmas Eve together. I thought I'd give them a little privacy. Anyway, I could say the same for you."

"Santa tends to leave me stock options or cash. As a rule, they usually arrive in envelopes, not down the chimney."

"Sounds pretty boring."

Wrinkle of the nose that is just way too ... just way _too much_ for Lex to tolerate, in his current state of intoxication. He makes a mental note: remember to start drinking significantly later next Christmas. Perhaps wait until _after_ lunch to open the first bottle.

"It's the thought that counts, or so I'm told. In which case yeah, you're right. Boring as hell."

A moment of comfortable silence descends, in which Lex takes another sip of whiskey and studies the tree, the walls, the floor, looking everywhere but at Clark. This is a good plan, a safe plan for Lex. Clark's eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed, probably from the cold winter air; Lex can only be strong for a certain number of hours each day.

"So ... uh." Clark reaches into his coat and pulls out a package. It's a small square box, wrapped in - good lord, _lavender_ paper, covered with little golden snowmen, and tied with a thick gold ribbon with a curly bow.

"Merry Christmas."

"Clark! You shouldn't have."

"But I wanted to, I mean - you're my best friend. I just wanted to, you know, give you something ."

“Hey, as a matter of fact -" Lex puts his drink down and reaches behind the lamp on the table next to him. Fumbling in the half-light, he pulls out a box with a flourish. It's wrapped in cheerful silvery paper with sparkly white stars that had reminded him of Clark's telescope. The salesgirl had assured him it looked festive. Like something you would give your buddy, your pal. The guy with the mouth that makes you think decadent thoughts.

Lex wonders where the hell he put his drink.

"Lex!" Clark’s eyes light up with sheer, unadulterated glee. Lex isn't sure he's ever actually seen glee before, but he can say with certainty that he approves of it. "I didn't think - I mean, cool!"

"Go ahead, Clark, open it."

"You first."

"OK - together, let's do it. One, two -"

Clark tears the paper off his box like a starving lion mauling a wounded gazelle. Lex makes a note of this as he dissects his box, carefully pulling off the bow, then each section of tape, and gently folding up the paper. After all, one never knows when one might have a desperate need for used lavender-with-snowmen wrapping paper.

"Ooohhhhh, wow." The shirt is green, but not like the leaves of a forest. Not like grass either, or emeralds, or frogs. Lex isn't sure if there's anything in nature that it matches except for Clark's eyes, and that's why he chose it. It's designer but it’s close enough to flannel for Clark not to mind, it's a primary color, he's pretty sure it's the right size, and surely Jonathan Kent can't object to a simple piece of clothing. It's a practical gift, not like a truck or a private box at the football stadium or a pair of black leather pants. It's not like Lex has been sitting around fantasizing about unbuttoning the tiny pearled buttons with his teeth.

Lex really needs to know where that drink got to.

Clark rubs his thumbs over the fabric. "It's so _soft_."

"It's Egyptian cotton. If it doesn't fit, let me know and I can exchange it."

Lex is forced, suddenly, to go into denial again: Clark is _not_ standing up and pulling his sweater off over his head. He is not standing there bare-chested and pulling the new shirt on over his naked torso. Because if that were actually happening, Lex would not be frozen in one spot, staring with wide eyes at the broad expanse of naked Clark-flesh in front of him. He would be more casually observant. In a cool, best friend kind of way.

"See, it fits! It's perfect. I like it a lot, Lex, thanks! Now you open yours."

Right, his present. Lex is suddenly glad to have somewhere else to direct his attention. He lifts the cover off his box - and for the first time ever in his life, is rendered utterly speechless.

Clark sits down next to him again, wiping his palms nervously on his jeans. "Um. Lex?"

They're standing side by side, heads and shoulders bordered by a simple silver frame. Clark's tanned face shines out at him, his broad smile displaying perfect white teeth with characteristic ease. Lex isn't smiling, having been caught unawares, but his expression is surprisingly unguarded and open. Like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Like he's _happy_.

Lex has seen enough photographs of himself over the years - in news articles, magazines, the quarterly LuthorCorp shareholder letter - to know that he never looks like that. Ever. His face isn't soft and his eyes don't shine.

"Lex?"

Clark's hand touches his arm lightly. Lex blinks, and gives his head a little shake to clear it. "Clark," he manages to say, and is surprised to hear his voice crack a little. "This is ..." and he looks up and trails off, because Clark is staring at him with a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

"Lex. Are you OK?"

He looks back down at the photograph, quickly. There might be a little dampness in his eye, a tiny lump in his throat. He wouldn't call it crying, exactly. But he's overcome by an enormous feeling of awe, that Clark would give him something like _this_.

He remembers exactly when Chloe took the photograph. It had been a bright, sunny, autumn afternoon, the kind where the light filters down from the sky, clear, golden and perfect. Lex had wheedled Clark into accepting a ride home after school. She'd caught them just outside the Talon as they were leaving. Lex had his sunglasses in one hand, Porsche keys in the other. Clark had spotted Chloe’s camera with some sort of magic farmboy vision, and thrown a lazy arm across Lex's shoulders to pull him in close for the picture. Guileless, like it was the most natural thing in the world for someone to touch Lex like that and not be met with a steely-eyed glare.

"This is the nicest thing I think anyone has ever done for me," he says, looking up into Clark's eyes. "Thank you, Clark. This means a great deal to me."

"You're welcome. I figured you already have two of just about everything. But you don't have anything like this."

"No," Lex smiles, and he's positive that his innermost thoughts are written all over his face right now but he doesn't care. It's Christmas Eve, and he's pleasantly drunk, and Clark is beautiful. "I've never had anything remotely like this."

There's a little flicker of something in Clark's eyes, and Lex wants more of it. The moment stretches on between them until Clark looks away first, but not before Lex has seen everything he needs to see.

He clears his throat. "Can you stay for a while? There's nobody else here, and to tell you the truth I was getting pretty bored until you showed up."

Clark smiles softly. "Yeah, that would be great! I can stay for as long as you want. I mean, I'm sure I don't have to be home for a while."

"Terrific. Want something to drink? I think I have some hot chocolate."

"Does it have those little marshmallows in it? I like those."

If it doesn't, Lex's cook is fired.

"I'm sure it does. Come on, let's go to the kitchen." As they rise and walk toward the door, Lex wonders if it's OK to mix hot chocolate and Laphroaig. Either way, he's about to find out.

Clark stops suddenly in the doorway. Lex looks up, momentarily confused. "What's the matter?"

"Up there." Lex tilts his head back to follow Clark's gaze.

Mistletoe. _Sweet merciful Jesus. This is not happening._

He's going to give his decorator a big fat cash bonus. The man is a genius.

The flicker in Clark's eyes is now a slow, steady burn. Lex can feel the heat rising in his own face as Clark's mouth dips down to his.

"Merry Christmas, Lex."

"Merry Christmas, Clark."


End file.
